The roof sloped, and that was why I felt safe:
it was like a tent made of house. Aunt Belle's
cooking wafting up the narrow staircase, adult
laughter as I read old novels from the 40's, snug
beneath a ragged quilt and sheets worn soft. When
the lights went out, my door swung open with a banshee
moan, and the collie who was a twin for Lassie
slunk across tile, flopped on my feet.
The dog I couldn't get, was my dog while we stayed.
Feet warm, I read until dawn edged the half-moon
window. Trixie the collie slipped out at six
to avoid a scolding, my first late-night liaison
unknown to adults, age seven. This went on forever,
the summer of eternal novels and a harvest never
quite finished, one day as the next except for
the time my brother tarred the neighbour's chickens.
Why we got to stay I don't remember, but ever after
it was my farm when I was accused of being a townie.
The only land still held in our collective families.
Part of me still lives there in that bedroom, untouched
by anything but the true story of Annie Oakley and her gun.
Part of me knows the farmhouse lies empty, boarded windows.
The same part knows Trixie was shot that summer, after growling
at a young cousin who reached for her bowl.
I never forgave the shooter, or the food bowl, or the cousin.
I never forgave the dog who warmed my feet and broke my heart.
5 comments:
Hi Andie.
It's nice to meet you and read your writing this way.
It's a beautiful poem. I like the sense of the unending summer—that's the way a child experiences it, and remembers it. I would change almost nothing, but here are a few minor things:
Should be '40s.
"twin for Lassie": I don't get this. Lassie isn't a Border Collie. Is there another way to say the speaker connects Trixie with Lassie?
"The dog I couldn't get, was my dog" should it be "The dog I couldn't get, she was my dog"?
"our collective families"— do you mean on the mother's and father's side? this seems a bit clunky.
Aw, it's a sweet, sentimental ending. Very nice.
Thanks Melanie. (only note: Lassie is a border collie…Trixie looked identical to her, the same coat and markings.)
Lassie is a "collie" or "rough collie" - sable and white with a long coat. A "border collie" has a medium length coat and is usually black and white. I checked my daughter's Encyclopedia of Dog Breeds. :)
You could tighten to: "moan, and Lassie's twin leapt and flopped"
I'd just take the comma out of "The dog I couldn't get was my dog..."
Since the next phrase says "my first late-night liaison," does that mean it should say "Trixie the collie and I slipped out"?
I love the beginning, the sloping roof that feels safe, sheets worn soft.
And the ending: poor Trixie, poor girl. I love that it's "I never forgave" - so much more powerful than "forgot." I might consider ending on "warmed my feet" since it communicates the same emotion in a more visual, surprising way than broken hearts.
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Thanks, that was an important detail that she was a collie and not a border collie. I have seen border collies in various colours but yes, their hair is shorter!
Oh yes, I love "a tent made of house" and the lines about the summers going on forever, and "I never forgave the shooter, or the food bowl, or the cousin." You've nicely captured that sense of remembering, wanting to preserve something while knowing the essential part of it is gone.
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